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Hurrah! the young waves are not abased by the heavy yoke of slavery! Having collected their scattered forces, they boldly attack the enemy. They close and strike against the sharp rocks, all in vain! The deaf rocks do not quake the least bit, only an echo is heard, carrying onward over the sea the moaning of those breasts, broken against the rocks. The sea sobs. Years pass on. Many years pass on. Many, many young waves have torn their breasts against the rocks. It grows darker, twilight is falling over the sea. The waves become calm, and succumb.
“Let us wait until we are stronger’”
Years pass by, youthful waves become manly; they send messengers everywhere to awake the sleepers; they summon all waves for bloody fight. Gray-headed waves shake their heads, and refuse.
We lack strength and ardour for the
